Abstract
In a memory of my childhood, I wake up in a small adobe house and find myself alone. Everything is dark and quiet. I step out of a room into a pitch-black patio and quickly return, feeling scared, and climb into a string-woven bench. I curl up like a seashell, shut my eyes tight, and fall asleep. I don’t remember anyone coming. My siblings were in the plaza around the block from the house. It was the early 1970s in Michoacán, Mexico, I was about two years old, and both of my parents were working in the fields inel